Conquests & Consequences Read online

  WAR

  OF THE

  REALMS

  Part 1

  CONQUESTS & CONSEQUENCES

  Lee Watts, Th.D.

  Copyright © 2019 Lee Watts

  P.O. Box 23114 Lexington, KY 40523

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  For Joshua and Hannah.

  “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.” – III John 1:4

  FORWARD

  This is the story of three realms:

  the realm of the physical,

  the realm of the spiritual,

  and the Realm of Theera-Enty.

  PROLOGUE

  "…and he placed at the east of the garden of Eden Cherubims, and a flaming sword…" - Genesis 3:24

  Draw close as I tell of the fall of a nation, the rise of tyranny, and the struggle to regain what was subtly lost. As the children of fire walk among the children of clay, their battle for the ages expands the physical realm. Some are oblivious to their role in the celestial struggle, others keenly aware of the hidden players and eternal stakes hanging in the balance. The storm clouds of war are gathering; as with all storms, this one begins with a single drop, and it is where it falls that our story begins.

  ***

  In a void between stars, a portal opened. Shades of brilliant crimson flickered from the doorway to the other dimension. As a spider first slides cautious, probing legs out of its hole, the tendrils of a lone, tan-plated scouting craft slowly emerged from the anomaly. Far removed from any star, world, or possible item of interest, there were no witnesses to the event, which is precisely the reason for selecting that barren region.

  Scanning the area, the seemingly reptilian-skinned vessel eased away from the closing rip in space. Vanquished for a thousand years, the Ramillie, at last, beheld the outside stars again. Believed by most as only a myth, the ancient beings, who once ruled the known galaxy, had returned to bring the age to an end and reclaim their lost empire. Their knowledge was vast, power immense, and ambition… limitless.

  Undetected, the desert-hued ship with lizard-like hull plating approached the unremarkable world of Dalban II. At the edge of the planet's southern desert, where grassy plains gave way to a sea of sand, stood a circular, weatherworn temple of stone and wood. In ancient times, the welcoming structure provided a respite for weary travelers ending their arduous trek across the dunes. A tall ring of sandy-hued pillars lined the outer edge of the large, one-room temple. Long abandoned, the domed sanctuary was in disrepair. To Shania, it was hallowed ground, and so she deemed the old haven worthy of preservation. For the sake of her vow, she always returned for a day to commemorate their journey from so long ago. Due to Dalban's orbit, the anniversary came only once every twelve standard years. As the warm, setting sun bathed the stone floor with deep hues of orange and red, the soft smell of freshly lit candles hung in the air.

  He knew, if she were still alive, he would find her there. Loyal to her word, she was where expected, and as hoped, alone. Her back was to him, but seeing only that, he still recognized her. Resting on her knees in the center of the circular chamber with its high vaulted roof, the caretaker, Shania, was in quiet prayer. A bouquet of white flowers with bright red centers lay beside her. As a cold chill running across your skin when someone walks over your grave, she sensed them approaching.

  Remaining silent, the leader tested if Shania's senses had dulled after so great a time. One of the men started forward, but the leader held out a closed fist, silently signaling the man to halt. The lone Guardian knew they were there even before hearing the intruders' footfalls. Strands of her shoulder-length, black hair brushed her face as the warm breeze danced about the room, extinguishing candles.

  Too disciplined to be startled, too experienced to not tense, the Guardian centered herself and reached out with all her senses. The sound of wind as it moves around a body, the smell of leather and cloth, a hint of a moving shadow, all these told Shania of the visitors. From her kneeling position in the room's center, she calmly rose and turned toward the intruders.

  Between two pillars, silhouetted against the low sun, stood a quartet of forms dressed in dark, scarlet-hued clothes with gold trim and high-polished black boots. Ritualistically wrapped headscarves obscured their faces, exposing only their black eyes. A step in front of his companions, the center man rested a hand on the holstered pistol at his thigh. Beneath the mask, he smiled hungrily, his long-awaited revenge finally at hand.

  With a click and the sound of quick-moving metal being drawn from a scabbard, each of the three accompanying men pulled apart the short staffs they carried, exposing two flaming short swords. Each weapon glowed intensely, yet the flames remained close to the blades. It was as if the fire was unable to escape the gravity of the steel. The fire danced and splashed over the cutting portions of the intensely radiant weapons. Turning the bottom tip of the handles toward each other, the men refastened their shining swords together, each forming a staff with double-edged burning blades. No visible fuel source fed the flames licking the razors. With only two groups of beings possessing such devices, the sight of the fiery pikes confirmed Shania's suspicions.

  Glaring, the lead man swaggered forward. Light from the glowing weapons cast flickering shades of red onto the other three strangers. Shania said nothing. Knowing their purpose, she needn't ask why they were there. Sheathed across her back was her own ornately carved metallic staff, her only means of defense. The arm-length weapon, known as a battlestaff, had not seen combat for many years, but it and its owner were no strangers to a fight. Grabbing her weapon, Shania drew it in front of her, and with a quick twist of her wrists, unlocked it. Pulling outward revealed her set of double-edged short swords, each narrow blade nearly as long as the handle. Shades of ruby tinted her face as flames glided over her glowing weapons. She took a defiant stance, waiting for them to make the first move. The leader was pleased and hoped it would be this way. Her desperate, final struggle only served to please him more.

  "ELAN," he commanded, sending the three men at his sides rushing at Shania. Fluidly rolling one of the flaming swords to switch her grip, she threw it like a spear, skewering one assailant through the heart before he was ever within reach of her.

  The other two closed in, slicing furiously with the double blades of their burning staffs. Flipping her deadly, flaming steel in a flurry of movement, she parried each strike, but after several blows was unable to gain an advantage. Spinning, she kicked one attacker's throat, causing him to jolt back. With a leap and war cry, she brought her full weight and strength down with a chop, severing this opponent's left hand. He shouted in pain, but there was virtually no blood as the flame of the weapon instantly cauterized the wound. She moved in to finish him, but the remaining attacker prevented her. Stepping back as she deflected his maddened blows, she struck on an idea. Turning, she ran toward one of the pillars, her opponent giving chase, which is exactly what she wanted. Reaching the stone column, she sprinted up it. At the apex, she pushed off from it. Flipping to land behind her opponent, she ran her blade directly through his back.

  "NO," barked the enraged leader from beneath his scarf. It wasn't supposed to be this way. She was finally to be defeated, ripped apart as intended years ago, but she defied his plans yet again. As Shania went to eliminate her final opponent, a blast of excruciating energy slammed into her back from the leader's sidearm. Crying out, her muscles locked from the stimulation overload. Not giving her time to recover, the one-handed man took advantage of the disruption. Using his remaining hand, he swung his staff in a wide arc, bringing the flat side of a blade in a searing smack against her skull. As she fell, her battlestaff loosed from her grasp, and its flames died.
Beneath his mask, the gunman bared his teeth in wicked pleasure as the woman collapsed. Before she could get off the floor, he sent two more bursts of agonizing energy plunging into her. Following this were several quick jabs and cuts from the injured man's pike. Adding to the pain of each slice were the severe burns caused by the blade's energy. The one handed-man raised his pike high, preparing to end the contest with a final blow.

  "CHIRANJIV, CUF," the leader commanded, halting the strike. Panting and enraged, Chiranjiv kept his weapon poised over Shania. He wanted the satisfaction of finishing her himself but knew if he defied his leader, the punishment would be far more severe than the brief moment of satisfaction was worth. Lowering the weapon, he stepped back as his superior slowly crossed to the panting woman on the stone floor.

  Every muscle ached from the energy that had torn through her. Her clothes and skin were ripped, burnt, and blood-stained, evidencing the cruelty of the assault. Towering over her, the leader looked down on his prey. Tightly gripping his fangblade, a vicious dagger-like weapon with wing-shaped blades curving up on either side, he prepared to claim his prize. Orange and red flames licked the pair of cutting edges of his weapon. His preferred instrument, he used it to dispatch many of her kind.

  With numerous, deep wounds, struggling for breath, and fighting for control of her twitching muscles, Shania stared at him defiantly. Forcing beyond the pain to form each sound, she gasped out, "Who… are… you?"

  He wanted her to know; it would add to the delight for her to realize who he was. With his free hand, he reached up and unfastened his scarf. Shania gazed in horrified disbelief as though beholding a ghost, which, in a way, she thought he was. She whispered his name in astonishment, yet as though she should have known all along.

  "Koraden."

  He smiled wickedly.

  "He should have listened to you," Koraden gloated.

  Struggling for air, she stammered her words. "…But…how? You were gone, locked away with them until… until the time of the end."

  He leaned down and grabbed the back of her hair pulling her to her knees. "Time's up," he said drawing back his fangblade for the killing blow.

  "You may have escaped The Cloud," Shania rasped, "but in the end… you'll be crushed."

  "We'll see who's crushed; now you can feel the pain of my blade."

  "Better an end with pain… than pain with no end."

  Her words filled him with uncontrolled rage. With a scream of bottomless hatred, he drove the weapon into his victim. His wild eyes bore into this woman he had hated for years. For so long he'd planned and fantasized about his revenge. This was only the appetizer, something to whet his tastes, but his hunger for vengeance was far from slaked. The main course he would draw out, savoring every delicious moment. Dizzy with delight, he felt her life fall away and body go limp.

  Satisfied, he withdrew the weapon and sheathed it. Pushing Shania's head forward, her lifeless form fell prostrate. Lowering to one knee, he reached down and removed the stone tied on a simple rope around her neck. Holding it up to the day's fading light, he gazed at the etched symbols. The markings were only decipherable to him and an ever-shrinking number in the galaxy. Acquiring it, he was one step closer to at last accomplishing his mission.

  Removing a small, metallic container from the pocket at his thigh, he opened it. With nine identical stones already in position, he inserted the tenth, leaving only two empty indentations. He returned it to his pocket. As he rose and began walking out, he noticed the bouquet of white and red flowers. Stepping on them, he ground the petals beneath his heel in one last act of spite against a memory long past then gathered the two sections of Shania's weapon and sheathed the blades into each other. At the pillars lining the edge of the structure, he stopped and gazed back at his slain enemy.

  "And then there were two." He smiled. Closing his eyes, he tilted up his head, inhaling deeply and drinking in the victory while communing with the unseen. Opening his eyes, that were now entirely black as pitch, he stared upward.

  "Hear me my prince, and accept this offering long due. Now, do I work your will to bring forth the legions. The end of the age is soon at hand, and the new age begins."

  Clutching Shania's battlestaff, he turned and swaggered out of the desecrated temple, his one-handed companion, Chiranjiv, following. Shades of purple filled the evening sky as the cool of darkness replaced the warmth of day. The sun was set, and the long night had begun.

  CHAPTER 1

  "But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise…" - I Corinthians 1:27

  On the planet Ekron, the accused stood handcuffed on a knee-high pedestal in the center of the court. Gazing admiringly at the standing-room-only crowd, he reveled in the attention while smiling coyly at the onlookers. He drew extra satisfaction noting their perplexed expressions. Realizing the verdict was predetermined, he decided not to fret the inevitable outcome but instead availed himself of this last opportunity to infuriate those he had so long bedeviled.

  "Thanks, for coming. Hey, glad you could make it."

  His flippant quips further irritated those anxiously awaiting the trial of the theocratic Hateeg Confederacy's most significant source of harassment and embarrassment. An athletic, handsome man in his early thirties, the prisoner was attractive, but not shaving for close to three days, and having slept in his clothes, his usual dapper appearance was currently less than stellar. His chestnut hair, usually gelled and styled, was now matted and tousled.

  As a blinding spotlight flashed onto him, it caused the crowd to grow silent. Into the courtroom stepped the judge, who took his position on the elevated dais. Also entering was the lanky, head-shaven, prosecutor. Declaring court in-session, the judge read the official statement from the government of the accused. It stated the renegade's actions were unauthorized by the United Realm of Theera-Enty.

  "If it pleases your Holy Honor," the prosecutor began, "I will begin by reading the numerous accusations against the infidel. Captain Sosimo Degare Fauntleroy LaRouche, you stand accused of-"

  "The Fourth," Sosimo interjected.

  Caught off-guard by the interruption, the prosecutor hesitated. "What?" he quietly asked out of the corner of his mouth.

  The Fourth," Sosimo confidently repeated. "My name… see I'm the fourth, my father was the third, his father the second and his father the first, and his father… well, you don't have a naught now do you, so who knows. It's not important anyway, but I thought you might want to have all the little details correct. You look like a little details kind of guy to me."

  "Very well! Now, if you don't mind?"

  "Me? No, I'm just here for the show."

  Clearing his throat, the bald lawyer continued. "…the Fourth, you stand accused of twenty-three counts of destroying Confederate property, fifty-seven counts of piracy, twenty-"

  "Uh, that should read fifty-eight."

  "Does the prisoner wish to add to the record?"

  "I'm only saying credit where credit is due."

  "Very well, fifty-eight counts of piracy, twenty counts of violating restricted space, sixteen counts of hijacking, ten counts of smuggling and four counts of kidnapping. Does the defendant verify the record as true?"

  "I certainly do not! I never kidnapped a soul. Each of those ladies stayed with me of her own free will."

  "Oh, so they simply left their attachments to go with you?"

  "Hey, if some guy's not doing enough to keep his woman then that's not my problem."

  "Captain LaRouche, I will not let you make a mockery of this court," blared the judge. "Prosecution, bring your first witness."

  With a nod, the slender, slick-headed lawyer motioned for the witness to enter. Seeing who it was, Sosimo's heart sank. Walking crisply forward, the witness appeared a disciplined, well-ordered person. His neatly trimmed ebony hair, clean-shaven face, and starched blue and white uniform made the wrinkled and stubbly LaRouche look all the more a renegade. Realizing what the appearance of this witness m
eant, Sosimo closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh of defeated frustration.

  "State your name and rank for the court," instructed the prosecutor.

  "Commander Shen Qi Lei of the United Realm. Let me begin by saying that I am appalled how the Realm gave up its national sovereignty by-"

  "You will confine your words to answering questions asked you," demanded the judge. "The Hateeg Confederacy respects the authority of the Assembly, and it's long overdue the Realm is at last falling in line. Prosecutor, you may continue."

  With a nod, the lawyer proceeded. "Commander, what is your relationship to the accused?"

  Restraining himself, Lei answered, "For the past five years I've served as his first officer on the starship Fortune."

  Turning to the judge, the prosecutor presented his case. "In an offer of amnesty for his own crimes, the commander has agreed to testify. Commander Shen, how would you describe Captain LaRouche?"

  Mulling it over for a second, Lei responded, "Driven."

  The lawyer then began a lengthy dissertation detailing the captain's numerous exploits. Several witnesses and hours later, the prosecution rested its case. To no one's surprise, the defendant was found guilty, but interrupting the reading of the sentence was a loud and angered, "I protest!"

  Sosimo turned, curious whom it was coming to his aid. Seeing the dark purple cloak of the approaching figure, he realized help was not on the way. Though a hood obscured the person's face, he was obviously of high estate having an entourage of three other identically clad people with him. Sosimo recognized the clothing as the typical wrap of Pelerite design. His escapades in their territory made this appearance less than comforting. The mega-corporations governing the Pelerite Consortium were renowned for cruel execution methods. He hoped this wasn't an extradition request. As the Pelerite doffed his hood, he glared at Sosimo then turned to address the judge.